


Shooting at the Walls of Heartache

by evila_elf



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evila_elf/pseuds/evila_elf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson becomes abruptly clingy, House wants to know why</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shooting at the Walls of Heartache

Originally posted to Livejournal May 5th, 2006  
 **Prompt:** #58. Wilson becomes abruptly clingy, House wants to know why

 **Notes:** Big thanks and hugs to daasgrrl for the wonderful beta job and help. 

 

**Shooting at the Walls of Heartache**

_Bang bang!_

“No!!” Wilson sat upright in bed, eyes wide, breath ragged.

“James?” Julie turned to the moonlight-silhouetted shape next to her, suddenly awake.

“Where’s House?”

“If he is anywhere close by, you are both going to be in a lot of serious trouble,” she joked, a yawn making her pause halfway though her sentence. “What’s wrong?”

He blinked several times. It didn’t improve his night vision, but it did clear his head some. “Nightmare,” he finally said, not trusting his voice to complete a proper sentence.

“Should I be jealous that you had a dream about Greg?”

“What?” He turned his head towards her and could see the faint outline of her cheek. “No. Nothing like that.” He squinted at the glowing numbers of his alarm clock. “I think I’ll head to work early.” Without another word, he scooted out from under the covers and went into the bathroom.

Julie watched him leave, then laid her head back on her pillow, listening to the sounds of the shower.

***

House grumbled to himself as he limped slowly towards the clinic. Cuddy had told him that he could repay her by doing some of his clinic hours. For a change. Not that she would really appreciate it. Give her something and she would _always_ want more

The nurse on duty looked surprised to see him. “Doctor House, what are you doing down here?”

“Such a cozy little spot, never a dull moment.” He paused to wrinkle his nose at a kid who was wiping snot on a sleeve. Then he turned back to the nurse, with a glare. “Why would I want to be in my office snuggled up with a good journal and my iPod if I could be _here_.” 

“I mean, why are you here when Doctor Wilson is scheduled in your place?”

“Just something about this place,” House said, with false fondness. “Makes me feel all fuzzy.”

The nurse shrugged helplessly when House didn’t immediately leave. “He’s in Exam Room Two,” she offered.

He hadn’t done any special favors for Wilson lately. Come to think of it, he never had. So why would Wilson be doing his hours? House pondered the question as he turned away from the desk and strolled towards the exam room, flinging it open.

The clinic patient—a middle-aged woman—glanced over at the door while Wilson, on the other hand, jumped straight into the air. “House!” he gasped, spinning around.

“Why are you doing my hours?” he asked, ignoring the fact that he had almost given his friend a heart attack.

Wilson swallowed, trying to calm his heart down. “I felt like being generous.”

“No. Generous for you is donating a paycheck to charity, helping an old lady cross the street...”

“Or paying for your lunch every day,” Wilson grumbled back, interrupting House before he could get going.

The patient was watching them like a spectator at a tennis match. “Should I come back later?”

“No. _Doctor_ House was just leaving.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“I’m doing your hours, yet you are arguing with me? Do you really want to do them?” Wilson frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

House paused, seeming to consider the answer. “Too stupid a question to deserve an answer.” With a shrug he turned and left, on the off chance that Wilson might change his mind.

“No comments,” Wilson told the patient sternly, knowing how badly she wanted to say something.

***

House was in the conference room, his followers grouped behind him. They were all staring at the whiteboard and its plethora of symptoms, occasionally blinking. All four turned towards the door as Wilson strolled in and made a beeline for the coffeepot. House continued to stare at him until Wilson saluted him with the half-filled cup. Even then, House was still distracted; he could feel Wilson’s eyes on him. He turned back around. “If you’re going to drink my coffee, you could at least help in the diagnosis a little.”

“I’ve already tested her for cancer,” Wilson replied, taking a slow sip of the hot liquid.

***

House loved Wilson’s company. Most of the time. But didn’t the man have something else to be doing? It was like he had taken a day off from work to be House’s second shadow. Every place he went, Wilson was close by: labs, cafeteria, lounge, bathroom…Even after he left, he could have sworn he saw Wilson’s Volvo trailing him part of the way home. He could have been imagining it, but it would have surprised him had it not been Wilson.

***

It was midnight. The TV programming had switched over to infomercials and House was contemplating sleep. There was a knock at the door. “A hundred bucks says it’s Wilson,” House bet himself as he stood stiffly and went to open the door. “Why, Jimmy! Bit late to be selling Girl Scout Cookies.”

Wilson groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Can I crash here tonight?” His eyes were half-lidded and his hair damp around his forehead. He looked exhausted. It was a wonder that he was able to even drive himself over.

“Mi coucho es su coucho.” He watched as Wilson knocked an empty beer can to the floor swept some crumbs from the couch. “Julie kick you out?”

“For tonight. Woke her up too many times.” He might have said more had a long yawn not interrupted him.

The gears were already turning in House’s mind as he dumped an old blanket over Wilson’s head after the man had lain down. Then he switched off the TV and moved the blanket from Wilson’s face when it became obvious that Wilson wasn’t going to. House stood and watched him snooze for a minute, remembering back to old times: Wilson could fall asleep anywhere, be it on his feet, the hard floor, or even in a bathtub if he were drunk enough. He shook his head, scattering the memories, and slowly went about getting himself ready for bed.

It was impossible for him to tiptoe around, but he did try to be quiet. He strained his ears for any noise coming from the living room. After brushing his teeth, he wasn’t sleepy enough yet to go to bed. He went back into the living room to get a journal and paused to take another look at Wilson.

Wilson’s face was calm, but his hand had a death grip on the blanket, knuckles white. As House watched, a tear pooled in the corner of Wilson’s eye and his breathing sped up. “No,” he moaned. “Don’t…House!” 

The yell of his name surprised him. “Wilson, wake up,” House said, voice loud, but not threatening.

Wilson’s eyes shot open, still blurry from his nightmare. “Greg?” he whispered, unsure if his mind was playing a trick on him. “I dreamed you died.” His eyes were still fearful. “Someone had a gun. At the hospital.” He paused to run a shaky hand over his eyes and wipe away any moisture. “Three nights of the same dream. I think I am going insane,” he said with a small nervous laugh.

“Come on,” House finally said, pulling Wilson to his feet.

Unsure, Wilson followed him to the bedroom. “House?”

“This way, if you have another nightmare, I can push you out of bed to wake you up.” 

“I don’t want to go back to sleep,” he said, sounding terrified.

House cut off all further protests with a grunt. He removed his own shirt, tossing it into a dark corner before crawling under the covers.

“House…”

“You’ve slept with me before.”

“But we were drunk.”

“No. _You_ were drunk.” A pause, then House heard clothing rustle, followed by another pause. Then the bed dipped. “Was wondering if you had gotten lost.”

Wilson frowned at the back of House’s head. He wanted House to know that he was doing this under protest, but couldn’t think of any words that wouldn’t make him sound like a 10-year-old. He reached over and turned off the bedside lamp, leaving the room dully lit from a streetlight outside. “Do you think it could come true?” His voice sounded small.

“That I could piss off a patient enough for him to pull out a gun and shoot me? Do I really need to answer that?”

“But--”

“Door’s locked. All’s safe. Sleep now,” House mumbled, closing his eyes. He felt the body behind him move slightly, then move some more. He was about to make a remark about how it would be easier to piss off people with guns when you hadn’t slept well, when he felt the heat from Wilson’s body just before he spooned up behind him. House opened his eyes.

Bare chest to bare back. Arm protectively wrapping around his waist, bending at an angle to span across torso to shoulder. Fingers curling…

House watched the arm wrap itself slowly across his chest. Felt the breath blow through his hair. He brought his hand up and laid it over Wilson’s, their arms following similar paths. Then he slept. 

***

Sleeping was fine. Waking up was awkward. Wilson woke first. His first thoughts were of relief that he had had no more nightmares. Then he realized the body that his arm was wrapped around wasn’t his wife’s. He didn’t see the cascade of long blonde hair, but short brown curls and a bald spot. Greg’s. Shit! His hand was being held still, trapped under House’s own. Double shit! Impure thoughts and House was waking up. Fuck!

“Morning,” House mumbled, like he woke up everyday with his best friend curled up around him.

“House.” Wilson drew out the word, a warning.

“I’m comfy, not moving.”

“Can I have my arm back?” He twisted it a bit and the grip on it tightened.

“Nope.”

“No?”

“It’s on my side of the bed. Therefore, it belongs to me.” 

Wilson opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. He sighed and relaxed, not realizing how tense he had been. “What time is it?”

“Clock’s on your side of the bed.”

“Not a character on The Exorcist. I can’t see behind me.”

“Cuddy can.”

“What?”

“She has eyes in the back of her head. Annoying.”

Wilson shook his head, hair brushing the back of House’s neck.

They lay still for several long minutes in silence until Wilson felt House’s arm and shoulders tense. “Leg hurting?”

“No.”

“You lying?”

“No.” In fact, the leg was _not_ hurting. It was throbbing. He tried his best to ignore it. The rest of him _was_ comfortable, and the feeling of comfort was currently outweighing his pain. Best to enjoy it while it lasted, and all that.

“Where’s your Vicodin?”

Damn. “Bathroom counter.” He tried to keep his hold on Wilson’s arm, but it was twisted sharply from his grasp. He shivered at the rush of cold air against his back.

A short moment later, a pill was shoved into House’s hand. Then, to his surprise, Wilson slipped back into the bed behind him. “It’s still early,” was all he said. House felt him scoot closer than he had been before, if that was possible, and he felt the small breaths against his back even out as Wilson drifted off to sleep.

House dozed lightly for a while until he felt the arm across him tighten against his skin. He lowered the arm around him so that he could roll over to see Wilson’s face.

Wilson’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut and his lips were parted and sucking in gasps of air before shakily letting the air out again. A sheen of sweat was breaking out on his forehead.

“Wilson? Wilson!” House gave him a little shake when he didn’t respond to his name.

_Greg was on the ground, unmoving, unbreathing. The smoking gun was now pointed at James, daring him to do something to avenge his dead friend_

_“Wilson.” Greg’s dead eyes opened and looked up at him, speaking to him from the floor. “Wake up you idiot. Do something.”_

_A touch to his shoulder. It was...House? James looked from the blood-circled body on the floor to the same man standing next to him. It was too much! He shook his head back and forth, closing his eyes..._ and opening them again to find himself practically face to face with House, blinking in disbelief, unable to speak.

“Same dream?” House finally asked.

Wilson nodded, then rolled onto his back, finally moving his hand from House’s chest to cover his eyes. He could still feel his heart racing in his chest. Could still feel it breaking at the thought that House had died. 

House gently rested a hand on Wilson’s shoulder, then used the other one to grab Wilson’s wrist and uncover the hidden eyes, glad to see that they weren’t wet like he had feared. He didn’t think he could deal with a crying Wilson at that moment, or even with the way he was being looked at, he realized. “Breakfast?”

Wilson blinked away the last bits of the dream—the most vivid one so far—and turned to get out of bed. “Do you realize it’s past nine?”

House checked his watch on the bedside table. “Oops, late for clinic again!”

***

Neither one felt like eating a big breakfast, so bread, a toaster, and every sort of condiment imaginable was used for their meal. Or House’s, anyway. Wilson watched with a disgusted look on his face as House prepared his meal. 

House was just in the process of adding chocolate sprinkles to his peanut butter and jam and jelly and mustard sandwich when the phone rang. He groaned and left his mess to go to the living room to answer it. He pushed the speaker button with a clean finger as he licked ketchup from the pinky of his other hand. “Sorry, no phone sex today. Got company over and all that. Unless your name starts with a ‘Cud’ sound. Then I think we can make an exception.”

Wilson, munching on a plain piece of toast, wandered out of the kitchen to listen.

“House,” Cuddy’s voice sounded tired for the not-quite-early hour, “I think it would be a good idea to stay away until around noon. It’s a zoo around here today.”

“My prayers have been answered!” House gleefully shouted to the ceiling. “Zoo? Wait. Literally or figuratively?”

“Some walk-in brought a gun with him.”

House turned to look at Wilson, who appeared to be choking to death.

“House?”

“Sorry, friend needs to learn how to swallow.” He turned back towards the phone. “Anyone hurt?”

“Shoulder wound to Benson. You should send the poor guy a get well card: he was covering for _your_ hours. The police are here,” Cuddy groaned miserably. “Actually, just take the whole day off. Wilson too. I don’t need any more headaches.” *click*

House turned back to Wilson, who was still red-faced, but breathing again. He took a few slow steps towards him. It wasn’t until he was standing right in front of him that he finally met his eyes. “Wilson?”

“Wow.” It was more air than sound.

“Yeah, Cuddy identified you by your cough.”

Wilson couldn’t hear House…the roaring in his ears and the pounding in his chest were too loud. “He would have killed you.” His legs started shaking and he took a few stumbling steps to the nearest chair, almost toppling it over as he sat. His breathing quickened—he was starting to hyperventilate.

“Wilson?” His friend was starting to worry him. He grabbed a chair and sat down in front of Wilson. He took the toast that was still clutched in Wilson’s hand and tossed it at the table. He reached out and rested his hand on Wilson’s shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “Look at me.” He waited until Wilson’s eyes were looking at him. “I hereby dub this day Lazy Thursday,” he said, as seriously as he could.

Wilson coughed a little, but finally gave House a little smile.

“Now,” House stood, “since we are PPTH free—at least for a day—I am going back to bed. Need all my energy in the morning to be able to laugh at my unfortunates who had to work today.” He turned and walked from the kitchen.

A stab of pain seemed to jab Wilson in the heart as he watched House leave the kitchen and walk away from him. He used the table as a support as he stood, legs still weak, trying to control his panic. He felt like he had already lost the man once, maybe twice, and was reluctant to let him out of his sights.

House grumbled a bit as he dropped his cane and crawled under the cool sheets, trying to trick his mind into thinking that he had never left the bed. He heard a noise, then looked over to the door and got a feeling of déjà vu when he spotted Wilson standing there.

Wilson took a few steps further into the room, then stopped, uncertain.

“You stalking me or looking for a place to sleep? Either one, be fast about it.”

Wilson just shook his head in exasperation, squared his shoulders, and walked the rest of the way to the bed. He still had about a day’s worth of missed sleep he needed to catch up on. He pulled back the covers and slipped in next to House. He rolled onto his side, facing away from House. He was just starting to close his eyes when he felt an arm fall over his side. He leaned back a little and turned his head to look at House.

House’s eyes were closed and his lips were curved upwards in a slight smile.

Wilson turned back and scooted back closer to House, a smile tugging at his own lips. He moved his arm to rest it against House’s. Then he finally slept—a smile upon his face, content, and dreaming of nothing.


End file.
